


Viktor Nikiforov of House Romanov

by Soulmateshinki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bottom! Victor, Drama, Imperial Russia AU, M/M, Romance, Tsar-to-be Viktor, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 03:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8951755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulmateshinki/pseuds/Soulmateshinki
Summary: Tsarevich Viktor has the weight of the world falling on his shoulders as he prepares to be the next Russian monarch, but unexpected comfort finds him in the form of a young Japanese immigrant.





	

_December 20, 1896_

The halls of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg are illuminated. Every arch and pillar, every room and veranda of the imperial residence embellished with lights, candles, ribbons, and ornaments as not only one, but two auspicious occasions draw near.  Both Christmas and the twenty-seventh birthday of the tsarevich, the heir to the Russian empire, are mere days away. Though, at the moment, said tsarevich is nowhere to be seen.

“Yuri!” Tsarina Alexandra’s voice rings through the grand dining hall, where her youngest son is enjoying a plate of pirozhki.

“Have you seen your brother, dear?”

“ _Mother_ , how should I know where Viktor is?” Yuri frowns and takes a sizable bit from the pirozhok in his hand. “He’s probably prancing around in the ice rink again,” he mutters through the mouthful of food.

Alexandra sighs as she hurries towards the palace gardens, where the ice rink had been built shortly after her eldest son’s fifth birthday. To the tsarina, the rink was both a blessing and curse, a place that stole Viktor’s time, energy, and attention more often than not, but also the place where Alexandra had seen her son enveloped in a kind of happiness and joy any mother would be thankful for. Still, as Viktor grew older, his responsibilities were taking a higher priority, and the country would certainly not be keen on the idea that their tsar-to-be spent most of his time becoming an ice skater rather than the next monarch of the great Russian empire.

As soon as she enters the garden, Alexandra catches sight of her son, deep in concentration as he glides smoothly across the ice.

“Vitya!”

His mother’s voice cuts through his thoughts abruptly and knocks him off the course he had planned to skate. Quickly catching himself, he spins around to look at her.

“Mama!” Viktor beams and skates to the end of the rink where Alexandra is waving to him.

“Viktor Nikiforov, I have had it with you,” she reprimands, a scowl darkening her pretty face, “What do you think you’re doing out here when the tailors have been waiting for you for over an hour now?”

She watches as Viktor’s eyes widen in genuine surprise.

 “Ah, the birthday uniform…,” he mumbles, voice quiet with guilt, “I completely forgot, Mama.” He looks to her in remorse, a slight pout set on his lips.

“Of course you forgot! _Of course_. How should you not forget when the only thing you ever have in your mind has to do with this?” She gestures angrily to the ice rink, glaring at her son as he bows his head slightly in shame.

“Vitya,” she sighs, “just go and meet them now. Go before your father hears of this. You’re turning twenty-seven soon. Do keep in mind who you are and what is expected of you.”

She reaches out to smooth down a few fly-away strands of her son’s hair, an act of mollification for her harsh words. Viktor takes her hand and pulls her into a hug.

 “Sorry Mama, I’ll do better. I promise,” he mutters into her shoulder before sitting down to pull his skates off and put his boots on, the grin back on his face.

A smile tugs at her lips as Alexandra watches her son run towards the palace. She had always had a soft spot for him. Of course, she loved all her children tremendously, as every mother loves the ones she bore, but there was a small place in her heart that only Viktor occupied. Perhaps it was because he was the eldest, the son that she prayed for when she first became tsarina. Perhaps it was his health and the constant need to pay a bit more attention to him than the others. Perhaps it was the tsar and the way he consistently looked down on Viktor and his capabilities that she felt she had the responsibility to side with her son, but Alexandra thought the real reason why Viktor was so special to her was because of who he is, the way he is, the indisputable beauty of his heart and soul. The first prayer that the tsarina sent up each night for the last almost twenty-seven years was a plea, a request for the heavens to grant her eldest child the happiness, success, love and long life he deserves.

*************************************************************************************

The Winter Palace is by far the most magnificent place Yuuri has ever had the opportunity to see. The exterior of the palace, basked in lights, had already taken his breath away, and now, setting foot in the inside, it took all his will power to keep his composure. Everywhere he looked were remarkable displays of wealth: golden wall decorations, intricately embroidered tapestries, pristine marble tiles, jeweled vases and picture frames, dazzling glass chandeliers, and mosaic ceilings. It was altogether too much for Yuuri to process, and for a second he forgot his own reality.

He quickly snaps out of his stupor and hurries along when he sees Yakov frowning and beckoning him to follow.

“Don’t wander off,” Yakov grunts.

“I’m sorr—,”

“Yakov!” A voice resonates across the lobby and Yuuri finds himself in yet another daze as his gaze lands on the person who had called out.

With porcelain white skin, delicate yet strong features, clear blue eyes and hair that is such a light blond it appears silver in the light of the chandelier above them, the person leaning over the railing of the balcony and waving to Yakov is the most strikingly handsome man that Yuuri has ever seen. Yakov smiles and bows towards the man before waving back.

“Your majesty,” Yakov addresses the man, causing the latter to erupt in laughter.

“Your majesty? What’s with sudden formali—”

“Viktor, you idiot! Fucking get over here! They’re not letting me leave until you put on your uniform too,” a male voice screeches somewhere behind the man.

The man at the balcony, Viktor, sighs and turns to where the voice that had cut him off came from.

 _Viktor_. Yuuri’s mind races, leaving him somewhat dizzy with the sudden realization of the man’s identity. Yakov had addressed him as “your majesty.” _Viktor Nikiforov? The tsarevich of Russia?_

“Yuri, I’m talking to Yakov. He’s back now. Did you know?”

“Why the hell do I care?”

Viktor turns back around to Yakov with an apologetic smile before waving once more and going into the room behind him.

Continuing his brisk walk, Yakov crosses the lobby and heads towards the servant’s quarters. Yuuri scurries to catch up with him.

“Sir, was that the tsarevich?”

 Yakov nods as he opens a set of heavy double doors that reveal a stairway leading to a lower level under the first floor of the palace.

 “Yes. His royal highness, Viktor Nikiforov.”

 

*************************************************************************************

“That was rude, Yura,” Viktor chides his younger brother as a tailor tries to tighten the belt on his new uniform. It is a midnight blue suit with silver buttons and embroidery on its sleeves and high collar. Silver tassels decorate the shoulders, and a white belt is fastened around the middle. Thin shiny silver ropes connect from the shoulders to some of the buttons for added embellishment. Yuri is donning a similar but slightly less decorative uniform.  

“You know what’s rude? You making everyone wait on your ancient ass while you fucking frolic around in the rink,” Yuri snaps from the sofa he is lounging on.

 “Aw Yura, why so angry? Didn’t miss your naptime again did you?” Mila, the middle child of the Nikiforov family, strides into the room, wearing her new gown, the same shade of blue as her brothers’ uniforms.

“Screw off, hag.”

“Did you see Yakov, Vitenka? There was a boy following him around. Asian. Wonder why he’s here.” Mila sinks down on the sofa beside her younger brother.

Viktor tries to recall the boy, or rather young man, that had accompanied Yakov. He had been wearing a large haggard coat and severely worn down boots, his dark hair windswept as he had looked up wide-eyed at Viktor. It was a look Viktor had become quite familiar with by now, a look of awe that probably came about from his appearance, or perhaps it was that he was to be the most powerful man in the country one day. It should’ve been a generally insipid look to him by now, but there was a kind of innocence in the young man’s eyes, a sort of purity and sincerity neither common nor unpleasant.  The brown eyes that had stared up at him became clearer as Viktor tried harder to remember them, and his thoughts echoed his sister’s.

“Wonder why he’s here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated <3


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